No More
by Darkflares
Summary: After being freed of Unicron's control, Megatron finds his thoughts clearer than they have been in millennia. So when given the chance to save a gravely injured Starscream, will the former Decepticon leader take it? Prime-verse, post-Predacons Rising.
1. Picking Up the Pieces

_Author's note: I found Megatron's character development in "Predacons Rising" to be a very interesting plot twist. When it comes down to it, Megatron started out as a sort of hero, and became corrupt over time. I think Unicron more or less made him see the corruption in himself, and reminded him of why he fought to begin with. It was an unexpected ending, to be sure. _

_That, combined with the uncertainty of Starscream's fate, inspired me to write this fic. Hope you like it! :)_

_(I chose to refer to Predaking as both "he" and "it" in this story, depending on whose perspective the narrative is currently focused on. Obviously Predaking would consider himself a "he", but Starscream always tends to refer to the Predacons as "its". So, for the sake of consistency in the characters, I went both ways. Hopefully it doesn't come off as confusing. ^_^;;)_

_Please R&R, I appreciate it immensely. ^_^_

* * *

Predaking bore down on his quarry with a vengeful ferocity. In his meta, he could still hear the crackle of the electrified prod, feel its bite against his armor... Behind him, he saw his fellow Predacons shifting restlessly, scraping at the floor with thirsty claws, longing to sate their bloodlust.

_This retribution is mine alone,_ their leader thought pointedly. _They may pick at the bones when I am through._

The dragon returned full attention to his victim. He had the seeker pinned, his long talons piercing through each of his once-tormentor's wings, binding him flat to the floor. Craning his long neck, Predaking peered downwards at the pitiful creature, and delighted in the sight of the horror-stricken optics that gazed back.

_No belittling words for me now? No telling me to return to my 'kennel'? Surely you cannot fear me, great Air Commander Starscream?_

Feeling a rush of vindication, the Predacon buried his blade-like talons in his captive's chest.

...

_Tyrant. In the end, is that to be my legacy? Is that all that I have given to my world? An enemy, in which all of Cybertron may unite in loathing?_

That was not how it had begun. He was to correct a flawed system, bring equality and justice...

His thoughts flashed to Unicron. Parallels surfaced in the former Decepticon leader's meta, between The Destroyer and himself: the fallen, would-be champion.

_Torturer. Murderer._

Hadn't those been the things he had planned to eliminate? The mistreatment of the lower castes? The needless carnage of the gladiatorial pits? When had the arena ceased being a prison, a necessary evil and become instead a place of comfort, familiarity, and standing? When had the means to an end_ become _the end?

_Power-mad. Egotist._

The very labels he had pinned to his oppressors, so long ago.

_Tyrant._

Ah, yes. The bottom line. The fruit born of his labors for justice, of his struggles for the _good_ of Cybertron. A tyrant, perhaps no better or worse than the tyrants who had lorded over him. Perhaps no different at all.

A weary sigh left Megatron's glossa, part defeat, part regret, and part... disgust. Disgust for ideals twisted beyond recognition, and for the weakness of his own spark. That he would see himself reflected in Unicron...

A sharp, electronic signal roused him from his musings.

It was his comm unit, now simply a relic of a meaningless war. He nearly crushed the device in his fist, so as to be rid of the unwelcome souvenir, but his curiosity won out. Accepting the incoming signal, he found it to be a distress beacon. It had clearly been sent from a damaged device; the data was mangled to the point of illegibility.

_Who?_

Some stranded Vehicon, unaware of the war's end? Shockwave, hoping to locate his absent leader? The Autobots, having acquired the Decepticon frequency from Knock Out? Megatron worked to decipher the origins of the signal, and at last succeeded.

_Starscream._

Of course. Only Starscream would manage to imperil himself at the dawn of a new age of _peace_. Megatron brushed it off, an exasperated groan escaping him.

_Starscream can dig his own way out of the pits he creates for himself._

A memory flickered through the warlord's meta. Pain, as the Starsaber pierced his spark chamber. Vision clouding as his life-force faded. Starscream, rushing to the edge of the platform above, expression aghast, calling to his fallen master and poised to either aid or avenge him.

_Or to see for certain that I was expired, that he might claim leadership for himself_, the mech thought bitterly.

The distress signal repeated itself.

...

"P-predaking, wait! You desire the proliferation of your proud species, do you not? I can gather fossils, CNA! I can make more of... of...," Starscream's optics reeled as he weakly motioned towards Skylynx and Darksteel. "Them! Your followers would never have been, were it not for my laborious efforts! Just let me find Shockwave, my... ah... assistant... and I'll gladly revive an army of Predacons to serve you!"

The seeker knew he was grasping at straws, counting on the hulking beast's ignorance. The jet's only real role in Project Predacon had been the collection of fossil fragments... something the three beasts could easily manage on their own.

The dragon sneered in response. So much for that bluff. The trapped flyer searched desperately for another bit of leverage he could use. As if reading his thoughts, the beast let out a low growl that seemed to say: _'You have nothing to offer me.'_

His distress signal, which he had activated in desperation as Predaking threw him to the ground, went unanswered. It was a small, implanted device, which all Decepticons were fitted with. It allowed them to silently signal for rescue using undetectable mental commands.

The technology had worked brilliantly in its early days; Decepticons would allow themselves to be captured, then activate the beacon, revealing the whereabouts of countless Autobot bases in the process. However, their adversaries soon deduced what was happening, and began to install interference technology to counteract it. Unimpeded, though, the signals could easily span the entirety of a planet, even reach some distance in space.

_Now if only it would do me any good._

Starscream sounded it again, redundantly, but felt no real hope. It would only broadcast on a Decepticon frequency, and the Decepticons were scattered, broken...

_Disbanded_, he remembered, feeling fresh grief.

Fluid brimmed in the captured mech's optics. He was fixated, almost hypnotized, as the Predacon slowly raised one foreleg and brought massive talons to rake over his left wing. An audio-shattering scream resonated through the throne room. Energon surfaced, filling the fresh trenches in the seeker's plating.

"P-p-please... No...," he sobbed submissively.

_This could not be how it ended._

Predaking made a soft, humming sound, something like a purr. Then, with a sharp, whip-like motion, the beast brought it's jaws down to Starscream's opposite wing and yanked roughly. Another high-pitched cry pierced the air as the wing tore almost completely loose from the flyer's frame. Energon began to pool beneath the severely damaged mech.

_Not even in battle. Not even as a warrior. As a useless victim._

With a victorious roar, the Predacon clamped it's jaws over the seeker's right arm and lifted him, choking and howling in pain, into the air. The dragon let it's captive dangle momentarily, then threw him. There was the sickening sound of buckling metal as the mech hit one of the broad pillars and fell, slumped, to the floor. The beast closed the distance between them and rested one claw on it's victim's chest, lowering it's head to stare into the eyes of the whimpering figure once more.

_No. No..._

The sound of high-pitched propulsion jets pierced the unbearable silence, and Starscream was sure his audios were malfunctioning.

_It sounds like..._

The seeker tried to banish the false hope. His audios were damaged, creating empty noise. That was all it could be.

Predaking lifted it's talons to the trapped mech's throat, digging into his plating and creating deep tracks down to his chest. The beast clawed with slow, excruciating precision, digging through Starscream's already damaged chassis, deeper and deeper, down into his spark chamber... The helpless mech stifled a sob of desperation. His awareness was fading...

_No, no, no..._

The screeching in his audios turned to a roar, and the world suddenly became a blur of flashing images.

_Am I offlining?_

_The beast's crushing weight, gone. Another roar... Different this time. Predaking? The clash of metal against metal. A shouting voice, so familiar... Fire in the air. Energon, the taste of energon. The flash of wings... Sounds of battle: crashing, striking, weapons firing._

With the fragments of strength he had left, the delirious seeker twisted his head in the direction of the noises.

_Mega...tron...?_

Impossibly, yes. Megatron's jet mode had rammed Predaking, throwing the beast off of Starscream and nearly off the ledge of the fortress-top. The Predacon had managed to regain it's balance and was now locked in combat with the ex-gladiator. The other two beasts were circling the fight unsurely, as if waiting for a cue from their leader.

Several of the pillars crowning the Decepticon fortress had sustained damage from the impacts and stray shots of the battle. Predaking's massive body had slammed against one of the thinner columns when Megatron had thrown him, and pieces of it were crumbling over the scene. The former warlord sidestepped a jagged chunk of the debris, then glanced up to its source. The dragon was advancing, snapping it's jaws resentfully at the intruder, but Megatron drew short of it's fangs, backpedaling as if in retreat. The provoked creature pressed forward, allowing it's adversary to lure it where he pleased. At last, the former warlord ceased his withdrawal, raising his arm-mounted cannon to fire-past the beast and towards the pointed tip of the damaged pillar above. He then aimed the weapon squarely at the Predacon, whose throat was glowing red with pent up flame, preparing a fatal breath of fire. The plummeting wreckage freed by the cannon-shot struck before the dragon could loose the attack, one jagged edge wedging itself into the beast's side like a blade. There was a roar of shocked anguish, and the monster collapsed, it's underlings rushing to it's side.

In the next instant, Starscream felt a tremendous force strike him, sending him flying past the edge of the broken chamber and into the empty air.

_Pain... Am I flying? No... Falling..._

The seeker instinctually tried to transform despite his condition, but met with resistance. His arms were held tight to his sides, and his entire chassis felt constricted. One wing was contorted painfully as well, and the other-the one Predaking had nearly separated from his body-thrashed loosely in the air, causing him a seemingly-impossible amount of agony.

He attempted to gain his bearings. Tilting his neck back painfully, he saw Megatron's helm, inches from his own. His former leader held him roughly as they fell farther and farther from the shattered throne room.

Above, the indignant roars of the Predacons sounded off like sirens. The uninjured beasts must have been preoccupied with their leader's welfare, however-at least for the time being-as there was no sign of pursuit.

* * *

_Author's Note: I'm still getting back into the groove of writing again, it's been so long! Hopefully I did alright with this chapter (battle scenes are such a pain to write). DX I hope you enjoyed it! :)_

_(Oh, and I would like to make a note about my decision to have Megatron use his fusion-cannon here. I realize it isn't really visible on his post-Unicron form, but (at least in my head-canon, lol) I like to think that it's still there to some capacity-perhaps in a more compact form, hidden beneath the bulky armor on his forearms.) XD_


	2. Fresh Wounds and Old Scars

_Author's Note: Thank you so much for all of the support, it's made my return to writing a happy one! ^_^ __I'll try to keep updating regularly, hopefully within a week for each chapter._

___Please R&R, I'm so grateful for the feedback! :)_

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_Idiot... Stop making this harder, _Megatron thought in aggravation as he felt Starscream squirm, panicked, against his chassis.

The larger mech's armor was slick with the other's energon, and he found it increasingly difficult to keep a grip on the injured seeker. His desperate thrashing did not improve the situation.

_This will be a feat for the ages_, the former warlord mused, clenching his denta in concentration as he released his hold of the smaller mech.

Pulling himself free and shifting into his alt mode, the ex-Decepticon leader nose-dived, accelerating to fly faster than Starscream could fall. With a dipping maneuver, Megatron flew closely beneath him, so that the free-falling seeker dropped onto the fuselage of his jet form. It was a rough, jarring balance, and certainly not the safest way to transport a wounded mech, but it was the only means he had at his disposal. Sensing movement, he felt the flyer's long fingers curl weakly around the ridges of his armor, struggling to find purchase on the smooth plating. This heartened Megatron slightly. He wasn't offline _yet_, at least.

_Why am I doing this? _He had asked this question repeatedly since electing to respond to the distress beacon. He still found himself short of a decent explanation, and it was grating at him.

He flew slowly, so as not to dislodge his awkward passenger. As the trip dragged on, he felt Starscream's grip shifting, loosening and clenching as his consciousness ebbed. The seeker's energon was dripping steadily over both of their frames, leaving Megatron to wonder how much of the precious life-blood could possibly remain in his slender build.

A ruinous city loomed in the near distance: all that remained of a once-thriving metropolis from the first Golden Age. The ex-gladiator weighed his options against each other. If he dared to fly faster, the ride would be more strenuous for his frail passenger. On the other hand, if he kept to his current clip, Starscream might bleed dry before they even reached their destination.

The latter danger seemed more pressing, as did the possibility of a counterattack from the Predacons, so Megatron accelerated slightly, alert for any shift of weight that might imply the smaller mech was losing balance. He did his best to assure this would not happen, swaying deftly from side-to-side to center his load. It was not an easy flight, but at last the dead city lay below, and the Cybertronian craft made a careful landing amidst the rubble.

Tilting to one side, Megatron allowed Starscream to slide slowly free of him. Returning to his mech form, he paused to examine the state of his former second-in-command.

He appeared to be at least partially conscious, and was moaning quietly and ceaselessly, his optics shuttered, his venting uneven and strained. Energon continued to drain steadily from the worst of his wounds, and several damaged fuel lines were visible. The plating of his left knee was torn where the joint was bent against itself at a ninety-degree angle. Both wings were ravaged: one tattered by deep claw marks, and the other stripped two-thirds-of-the-way from his body. And his chest... Megatron could see the seeker's spark glowing beneath a last, thin layer of plating within the craterous hole Predaking had carved into him. Twisted metal surrounded the cavity, ripped gruesomely away from his frame.

The ex-warlord had to wonder if Starscream was alive by sheer force of will alone. It would certainly explain his uncanny record of cheating death.

Megatron lowered himself down beside the limp figure, cautiously sliding one arm beneath his knees, and cradling the seeker's back and neck with the other. He gingerly lifted him, and the flyer gave a soft whimper, shifting uncomfortably in his hold. Starscream's frame was unsettlingly cool to the touch; he had lost too much energon, and his functions were slowing. His wings twitched hesitently, then slackened, too tender to move.

The larger mech carried him inside the nearest structure, which shared an almost uniform state of disrepair with the buildings around it. The interior matched the exterior perfectly: crumbling and empty. The remains of this city had been picked clean of anything useful long ago, in the early days of the war. Megatron moved to one corner of the entry, where a pile of rubble from the collapsed ceiling rested. Kicking aside the debris, he uncovered a tiny console, small enough to rest in his hand, were it not fitted into the dusty floor.

He lightly prodded the device with one pede, and watched as it sprang to life. A thin beam shot from the panel towards the former Decepticon leader, then withdrew as abruptly as it had appeared.

Cybertronian characters appeared on the small screen, forming the message: '_CNA scan complete. Subject= full access to all facilities._'

_At least Unicron has not twisted the very composition of my CNA_, the mech thought bitterly, still adjusting to his new build. Whether or not he was stronger in this form, as Starscream had once surmised, it bothered him deeply that his own _body _been altered without his consent.

The screen fell black once more, and a soft, mechanical whirring broke the silence. The floor of the adjoining room parted, revealing a ramp leading downwards into a murky corridor. This was the hiding-place of one of Shockwave's laboratories, constructed before Cybertron had gone dark. Several of these installments were distributed across the planet, built into the wreckage of dead cities such as this one. All were below ground, and equipped with heavy interference fields to disrupt enemy scanners. Shockwave had mentioned this particular lab in the reports he had filed after his arrival on Earth; it was where he had repaired his damaged optic.

_And thus, it must have intact medical facilities._

Megatron made a slow descent into the chambers below. At the foot of the ramp awaited an airtight door, which shuttered open at the ex-Decepticon's approach, then sealed itself behind him.

The laboratory beyond it was well-maintained, providing a sharp contrast to the derelict city above. Signs of recent use were easily spotted: the mainframe and the security fields were powered on, and a small array of modern surgical tools were piled on a table beside a diagnostics console. With relief, Megatron noted a meager stack of energon cubes in one corner.

The facility was somewhat cramped-the better to conceal it from Autobot scanners-but it made efficient use of the space it had. The walls were lined with vaults, cases, and shelves housing medical and scientific equipment. On one side of the cluttered room were three berths, each fitted with a system of restraints that extended or withdrew by remote command. It was unlikely that they had been installed for the treatment of the injured, but rather for more ghoulish purposes. A spattering of dried energon on the wall beside one served as another reminder that this was a Decepticon laboratory, not a medical bay.

The former warlord approached the small cluster of berths, lightly arranging Starscream upon the nearest one. He then attempted to position the torn wing in some semblance of its natural posture. The seeker screamed hoarsely in reaction, an intense spasm racking his frame. The sensitivity of a flyer's wings was incredible; to have them mutilated to the state that Starscream's were in... It would have been unimaginably painful, Megatron realized with a small grimace.

The barely-conscious mech had stopped moving now, his injuries still leaking away the last of his energon. The ex-gladiator had only a knowledge of standard emergency procedures... Hopefully, that would be enough to stabilize his 'patient'.

He began briskly sorting through the mess of utensils on the nearby table. There were a variety of laser-scalpels, drills, soldering tools, and countless instruments he could not name, but which suspiciously resembled torture devices. Uncovering several large syringes, he set them aside-they could be used to inject the unconscious seeker with much-needed energon. After a bit more digging, he pulled a cauterization clamp from the disorganized pile. This was used in emergency situations-a common inclusion in field med-kits (and thus refreshingly familiar to the ex-warlord). Its function was sealing torn fuel lines, preventing further energon loss until a medic could be reached. It was not a long-term fix-it would cause deficient fuel circulation, leaving the subject weak, nearly immobilized-but it was extremely useful on the battlefield for staunching severe bleeding.

Megatron debated whether or not he should inject Starscream with a dose of energon before he proceeded with the repairs. The frugal standard amongst the Decepticons had always been to give a still-bleeding patient energon _only_ if their optics began to flicker-a sure sign of imminent stasis lock. In this manner, the Decepticons had conserved far more of the scarce fuel than the softer-sparked Autobots, who freely utilized their resources to aid the wounded. Megatron glanced over at the quivering mech on the berth, and dismissed the old practice; more than a few of his soldiers had been lost to it.

Partially depleting the contents of an energon cube, he filled one syringe to capacity. Locating an undamaged line in Starscream's lower abdomen, he carefully inserted the needle. The seeker gave a soft sob at the sudden pain, raising one arm as if to guard against attack, but letting it fall back to his side again as weakness overcame him. Megatron emptied the energon slowly into the mech's systems, then withdrew the syringe.

Setting it aside, he reclaimed the cauterization clamp, then reached for a leaking fuel line that protruded from the seeker's chest. Resting the end of the tube between the grips of the clamp, he activated the device, allowing the heat to seal the line shut. This, combined with the fresh energon, seemed to rouse Starscream from his near-comatic state.

"Please... master! I did not intend to defy... your authority... Have... mercy...!" the seeker gasped deliriously, optics rolling in panic.

"Fool!" Megatron hissed irritably at the other, his patience wearing thin. "You are not being tortured!"

Starscream gave no indication that he understand, or had even heard the words. His ventilation became more ragged, and he flailed uselessly at empty space, attempting to defend himself.

The larger mech found he couldn't quite blame Starscream for assuming the worst. After all, he had beaten the traitorous seeker to death's door countless times in the past.

_And he earned every blow_, the former warlord reassured himself coldly, recalling his second-in-command's infinite efforts to usurp him. Still, he felt a small measure of pity for the pathetic mech, who was spending the last remnants of his strength feebly clawing at the air, struggling to fend off his imagined torturer.

"Stay still, idiot," Megatron ordered warningly, pressing one hand against the smaller mech's shoulder to steady him.

At the harsh tone of his master's voice, the seeker fell limp, sobbing softly as liquid brimmed in his shuttered optics. Evidently, he had learned from his past beatings that less resistance often resulted in less pain.

With a sigh of exasperation, Megatron returned to the repairs. He sealed the remaining fuel lines, each touch eliciting a quiet yelp from his trembling patient.

_Why am I doing this?_ He asked himself once more, but still his meta found no answer.

* * *

_Author's Note: Thanks for reading, I hope you enjoyed this chapter! I ended up rewriting it several times, as Megatron's character development was giving me trouble. XD_

_This chapter focused on Megatron's perspective, but the next will return to shifting between characters. Poor Screamer was in too bad of shape to have much say in this one, lol. ;)_

_**Since I've been asked about it, **I would like to note that this fic was not written as slash. I DO enjoy and write slash, but I always label those stories as such, for those wondering. :)_


	3. Duality

_Author's Note: I would like to once again thank everyone for the support and advice! :)_

_Also: I've tried my best to derive the Cybertronian medical technology, anatomy, etc. from canon sources, as well as a certain degree of fanon. However, much like the variances between continuities in what Cybertronian time measurements mean... there's a lot of grey area. XD So again, I've done my best to piece it together and 'fill in the blanks'. :)_

_Thanks for reading, I hope you enjoy this chapter! R&R is loved, I truly appreciate it! :)_

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_Pain... I cannot... move... My systems must be near failing... My wings... Frag, what's happened to my wings...? What is... happening now?_

A sharp pain pierced the blackness. Starscream's optics snapped online and darted frantically, all of his senses struggling to take in as much information as possible.

_Darkness... Illuminated screens. Cold, so cold... Can't vent. Megatron..._

Megatron.

The helpless seeker's optics widened at the sight of his master hovering closely over him. Starscream's meta was hazy-a consequence of energon deficiency-and in his shaken state he could not piece together the events leading up to now. However, he supposed that it was easy enough to deduce logically: Megatron had beaten him into stasis lock, or somewhere close to it, and was now onlining him again to continue the torture. This room, glowing and still, must be the _Nemesis_' med bay...

_What did I...?_

Scrambled memories sped through his mind as he grasped for answers: all of his myriad betrayals, acts of treason, schemes... Which ones had brought him to this moment? Which words must he twist to make the situation reflect favorably (or at least harmlessly) upon him?

"Please... master! I did not intend to defy... your authority... Have... mercy...!" he choked at last, troubled by the difficulty he found in getting the words out. His vocalizer must have been damaged-or else he was so low on fuel that it could barely function.

Megatron offered him a cold glare. The warlord's lips were moving, but Starscream's audios must have still been in reboot; the words were distorted, buried in crackling noise...

The seeker panicked. He reflexively threw his arms up in defense, shielding his faceplates. The strain of the movement was tremendous, and his frame ached more with every slight motion. He whimpered pitifully, in equal parts pain and fear. The buzzing in his audios was fading now; he could hear the steady thrum of the nearby consoles, his own gasping ventilation... and his master's voice.

"Stay still, idiot," the Decepticon leader's tone was low, growling... a threat, obviously.

The flyer let out a soft gasp of fright as Megatron shoved him down jarringly. In his condition, he had no means of resisting the hulking mech, nor did he have the strength to flee. His best chance at this point would be to accept the punishment dutifully, and hope that his master's rage would soon be spent...

A burning sensation, lingering and raw, suddenly coursed through his upper body. It resonated within his frame, as if it were... inside of him. Allowing his optics to flit downward, he saw why: a craterous hole had been opened in his chest.

_Wait... What is...?_

A shudder overcame him as he noticed something else... He could see the glow of his _own spark... _It was just short of being exposed, shielded by only a thin, internal plating. Layers upon layers of his chassis had been clawed aside, reduced to twisted pieces of scrap that jutted up unevenly around the wound. Megatron was doing something inside the gaping injury-that was what he had felt. Starscream squirmed futilely, but the larger mech was too strong-there would be no escape.

Another burning sting followed, so close to his spark that he could feel it flicker. The raw pain reminded him of...

_The Predacon..._

Yes, that beast had played some role in reducing him to this state. With a jolt, he remembered the hideous ripping sensation, the sheer agony as his wing was pulled away from his body... This memory ignited a storm of others, and the events of the day began to assemble themselves in his meta.

_Unicron. The battle... The end of the Decepticons. The throne room. Predaking; that stupid beast turning on him, it's claws sinking into his frame... Energon spilling around him... The roar of jets-a sound too much to be hoped for. Megatron. A conflict. Debris falling... The Predacons howling in anger. Flight. Pain, unceasing... Awareness fading..._

As it all fell into place, Starscream was left with a sickening sense of suspicion and fear. What would have motivated Megatron to salvage him? Because he wanted the pleasure of offlining the seeker for himself? So that he could continue to humiliate and torment his former second-in-command?

There was no telling, really. After all, Megatron had recently declared his armies disbanded and given up on his quest for domination-it was clear that his mind had become dangerously unhinged.

More pain disrupted the jet's thoughts. It shot through his leg, then his shoulders, his wings... _His wings... _The seeker shrieked in misery, nearly losing his thin grip on consciousness as the burning agony delved into the tender, open wounds... Then, abruptly, Megatron's shadow slipped away, and the barrage of fresh pain ended.

Starscream craned his neck, struggling to see what was happening. Megatron had left the berth-side... He was bent over a nearby table, reaching for one of the many objects scattered across its surface... The seeker was still trying to decide what the item was as the ex-warlord returned to his side.

_Some sort of gruesome torture device, no doubt_, the helpless mech thought despairingly.

A sudden pain in the flyer's knee seemed to confirm this theory. He screamed, desperately willing his leg to move, to draw away from the source of his suffering... But the limb wouldn't obey. The joint had gone dead, too mangled to function.

He began to sob madly, confused and afraid. Shuttering his optics hopelessly, he surrendered himself to the anguish that was surely to come.

"Starscream!" the incensed shout echoed in the tight space.

"M-m-master-r...?" The seeker quavered weakly in answer, his voice breaking.

There was the sound of a slow intake of air over vents, as if Megatron were attempting to steady himself.

"Calm down, you fool. I'm only injecting you with energon," he said with strained evenness, halting his work to turn and face the smaller mech.

Starscream gave no immediate response. He stared into his leader's optics, searching for the cruel amusement and contempt that would surely be reflected in them. He saw anger, yes, as well as intense frustration, but also... pity?

The larger mech turned away, shaking his helm slowly in exasperation. He returned to the task of refueling the seeker, seemingly placated by the fact that his 'patient' was no longer in a fit of hysteria.

Starscream merely watched his master in silence, trying to understand.

...

Megatron finished emptying the contents of the syringe into Starscream's leg. The seeker had stopped bleeding, his broken fuel lines having all been sealed-but he was still dangerously low on energon. With so many lines now unable to effectively circulate through the slender mech's body, the best means of refueling him would be to inject the energon into multiple areas of his frame.

_That is, if the imbecile will allow me to do so_, the former warlord thought in irritation as he reached for another syringe.

Starscream now looked as though he were in some kind of catatonic shock. The jet's optics followed his leader's every move, containing an expression somewhere between terror and disbelief.

Megatron narrowed his own optics at the seeker, causing the smaller mech to look away fearfully.

As he watched his former SiC's gaze dart apprehensively to the opposite side of the room, Megatron sighed tiredly to himself.

It was ironic, really. In forming the Decepticons, he had assembled vast armies of loyal drones and won over innumerable followers who would have laid their lives down for him in a sparkbeat. And yet now, the only one by his side was Starscream. Conniving, self-serving, back-stabbing Starscream, whom he had threatened to offline for countless ages. Megatron had never followed through on those threats, though he liked to think that he had come very close at times. Still, the cunning flyer had always managed to wheedle his way back into the rank of second-in-command, no matter his treason.

_Because I am a fool_, the ex-warlord thought, curling his lips slightly at the dark humor of it.

It was true that Starscream had been of great service to him in the past. For all his whining and cowardice, he was a highly competent air commander, and his maneuvering had turned the tides of many a battle. There had even been times when he had fought at his leader's side, acting with apparent loyalty. Megatron recalled the first confrontation with Predaking, when the beast had rampaged through _The Nemesis_, howling for vengeance. If Starscream had not fired on the Predacon, throwing him off-balance and causing him to slip from the airlock, the creature may well have overpowered the Decepticon leader.

In any other soldier, Megatron would have considered this a show of unconditional allegiance. However, he had learned from hard experience to dissect Starscream's actions carefully. After all, if Predaking had defeated _him_, a former gladiator of Kaon, what chance of survival would the scrawny seeker have stood _alone_ against the dragon?

There was the root of it all: Starscream's every action was steeped in duality. There was no way to ever be sure of his true intentions... except, of course, for when the boastful mech foolishly announced them.

Even when Megatron had entered his mind with a psychic patch, the seeker's thoughts had been chaotic and difficult to read. Treachery and loyalty had danced hand-in-hand in his meta, and the warlord found himself unable to see through it all, to tell which thoughts were lies and schemes, and which were truth. No, the mind-link was _not_ a perfect science. It worked magnificently for extracting battle strategies, secret intel, and other mundane fare, but it could not truly discern one's nature... despite what he had hoped.

So, he had spared Starscream once more.

His feelings towards the jet were conflicted, at best. Starscream's ceaseless efforts to overthrow his leader spoke of an almost admirable dauntlessness. It was hard for Megatron-who had once had to rise from the lower castes and overthrow his own oppressors-to truly hate the schemer. In truth, he found that he even bore a grudging attachment for his traitorous second-in-command. And now, alone as he was, he was almost grateful for the familiar presence.

_Almost._

_..._

Starscream watched as Megatron filled another syringe from a nearby energon cube, then strode over to his berth-side. He moved the needle towards the prone mech's left wing-the one that had been marred by Predaking's talons. The flyer could tell from the weakness he felt in the appendage that it had nearly bled dry... but he still didn't relish the thought of that needle digging into it.

"I... Ah... Master?" he interjected timidly, his optics narrowing squeamishly as the syringe drew nearer.

With a seething hiss, the ex-warlord turned his helm to face the smaller mech.

"Yes, Starscream?" he replied in a slow, deliberate manner, as if resisting a strong urge to strike his former subordinate.

"I... Well... I was merely wondering...," the seeker stuttered, his optics darting uncomfortably beneath the larger mech's stare. He began to twitch his wings nervously, but stopped, grimacing at the pain produced by the movement.

Megatron rolled his own optics vexedly, gritting his denta.

"That is... Ah... Why are you... helping... me?" he finally asked in a lowered voice, wincing in preparation for a violent reaction.

The ex-gladiator gave a growl of frustration.

"Believe me, I have not the slightest fathoming of it either," he answered sneeringly, returning his attentions to the syringe.

"...Oh... well...," the seeker began, but interrupted himself to let out a sharp cry as the needle pierced a fuel line amidst his exposed mechanics. He quivered as the energon was pushed into his systems, the powerful sensors of his wing acutely feeling the harsh pressure in his 'veins'.

He did not finish his thought, instead allowing the moment to drift into an awkward, discomforting silence.


	4. Powerless

_Author's Note: Thank you once again to my reviewers and supporters! You've been a huge help to me as I've written this fic. :)_

_A note on Cybertronian time measurements: The names for these timespans vary in meaning by generation and user. For the purposes of this fanfiction, I've chosen the following definitions:_

_Cycle: I honestly have used this as a very vague term, possibly referring to any of the -cycle measurements (mega-cycle, etc.). I intended it as a Cybertronian equivalent of the casual use of words like "time" or "ages" (i.e.: "It's been ages...")._

_Solar cycle: As defined in Beast Machines, a day._

_Hope you enjoy this chapter!_

* * *

"I will be the one to deal with the negotiations. I do not want _a word_ to slip from your glossa, _Starscream_," Megatron snarled warningly, his optics boring into his former second-in-command.

The prostrate seeker, still unable to sit or stand due to the extent of his injuries, nodded fearfully.

"O-of course, master!" he replied with what he hoped was a convincing amount of enthusiasm.

The larger mech narrowed his optics threateningly before turning away.

A day or so had passed since Megatron had performed the emergency stabilization, and Starscream was still attempting to decipher his motives. Especially now that his former leader had shared this newest plan...

If Megatron truly meant to disband the Decepticons, then why had he bothered to save the seeker? The only thing that had ever kept him out of the scrapheap in the past had been his usefulness as a warrior.

The jet could not help but feel a deep pang of bitterness as he recalled the abandoned war. For millennia he had fought at his master's side, delighting in the thrill of power that it gave him to stand with the Decepticons. They had turned _entire world_s on their heads... and Starscream had stood at the forefront, a visage to be feared. Apparently, that was all at an end. Now they were nothing-_he_ was nothing. Powerless.

_And what has it all been for... all those cycles spent clawing my way through the ranks, serving the Decepticon cause? So that the _great_ Lord Megatron could become a soft-sparked fool, little better than the pitiful Autobots?_

After his master had 'stepped down' from leadership, Starscream had taken the only logical course of action: he had tried to assume command; to rebuild. That had been his fate from the beginning, hadn't it? The throne-which he had fought and plotted and suffered to gain? Yet he had not so much as issued an order before it was all ripped from beneath him.

_By _beasts_. Dim, brutish, _beasts_, thirsty for no reward more lofty than the satisfaction of their mindless bloodlust. _

And yet _he_, the air commander of the most feared armadas to ever be recorded in the Cybertronian archives, had been brought to death's door-torn to shreds and humiliated-by the miserable creatures. He despised Shockwave for ever reviving the things.

Still... he also couldn't help feeling a certain amount of contempt for _himself_... How was it that he had failed so completely, so _uselessly_ at every turn?

His current situation was a new low. He had always seen Megatron as a rival; a hurdle between himself and the power he craved-someone to be surpassed and conquered. Now Starscream lay helpless on a berth in a rusted-out laboratory, with the ex-warlord playing nursemaid to him. The shame was almost too much to bear... The _beatings_ he had suffered at his master's hands had been far easier to take than _this_.

It all brought him back to the question at hand: _why_? If Megatron had no further use for an army, then what had possibly prompted him to salvage his former second-in-command... and to go to such extreme lengths to see to it that he was repaired?

_Mercy?_

If that were the case... then truly, his master had changed. At first, the notion was entirely repellent-unacceptable. However, one thought lingered in Starscream's meta...

If it was indeed 'change' that had saved him from death... he would take it.

...

The former warlord felt a silent sigh escape him as he studied the surrounding laboratory. He could hardly identify the majority of the equipment... let alone operate it. He loathed the feeling that it left him with.

_Powerlessness._

He had never wanted to feel it again-he had never thought he would have to. His days of hard labor in the lower castes were behind him. He would never again work in drudgery, belittled and treated as a lesser being, all to obtain just enough energon to quell his tanks.

_And yet here I stand, reduced to begging for scraps once more._

His optics filled with frustration, shifting back to the occupied berth. The wounded seeker noticed him and winced, struggling frantically to avoid eye contact. Megatron growled softly in disgust.

_For _Starscream's _sake, no less..._

Starscream was presumably out of danger, but far from restored. His shattered knee joint and ravaged wings would require treatment far beyond the scope of Megatron's limited knowledge. The cavernous chest wound, which looked grim enough on its own, had probably also caused internal damages-and he had no means of diagnosing or repairing those, either.

Megatron had been forced to take the only viable option. It were not as though he had a great deal of choice in the matter...

_Leave the logical choice... The one my spark has evidently grown too soft to make, _he thought, bitterly amused by his own predicament.

Grudgingly, the former Decepticon leader plugged the necessary information into his comm unit, hesitating momentarily before sending out the signal.

_Now we will see how far this newfound 'peace' truly extends._

...

The ground bridge rippled into being at the provided coordinates, and three figures materialized. The Autobot medic was there, of course, as well as Knock Out and a third addition to their group-the two-wheeler, who entered with weapons charged and aimed. None of the three looked pleased to be there, but the blue femme looked utterly contemptuous. Megatron noted that Knock Out was carrying his electro-staff at his side, his expression more sheepish than anything else. Ratchet's stance was tense and wary. They looked as though they had expected to bridge into a warzone.

Knock Out was the first to notice the injured figure on the berth behind Megatron.

"_Whoa._ What'd he do, say your new armor made your aft look big?" the medic blurted, a sharp smirk decorating his faceplates. As if suddenly remembering that his former leader could hear him, he then stepped cautiously behind his two comrades, grin fading.

Megatron ignored the impetuous mech, turning his attentions instead to Ratchet. The old Autobot spoke first.

"And why in the name of the All Spark should we aid you, Megatron?" his tone was even, indifferent.

The ex-warlord studied the other contemplatively for an instant before replying.

"It would seem the Predacons are far more eager to break our newfound _peace_ than they have let on," he said at last, motioning with one hand towards Starscream, all the while maintaining steady eye-contact with the Autobot.

"Pfft... In case your memory banks were damaged in that last battle, might I remind you that the Predacons fought _with us _to_ protect_ The Well? From _you, _no less?" Ratchet remarked scoffingly.

"You did not fight me, Autobot, but my body-under Unicron's control. I too fought at your side, though in a different capacity," Megatron's optics narrowed at the memory.

"Unicron would never have _gained_ control of your body, had _you_ not filled yourself with Dark Energon!" the old medic's composure was failing, his words rising to a shout.

There was a pause as Megatron shuttered his optics in self-disgust. He could not stand to think of Unicron's blood, which still contaminated his systems. The Autobot was correct-he had been a fool, taking desperate paths to power.

"A course of action I regret more than you can know, _doctor_," he began slowly, the words stinging as they left his vocalizer. "I realize that I have much to atone for-"

"That's an understatement," it was Arcee who had spoken, her gaze steely and unwavering. She still had her weapons raised, searching for any indicator of an ambush-any rational excuse to open fire.

The former Decepticon leader's optics shifted to meet hers, his voice steady as he finished his statement.

"-but I have no more desire than you to see this new Cybertron meet the same fate as its predecessor."

"And we're supposed to just take your word for that?" the femme returned coldly.

Before Megatron could reply, Ratchet broke in.

"What you're asking is that we raise our weapons against the Predacons-who have served as our _allies_-in order to protect the ones who brought our planet to its doom? You're out of your mind." he sputtered in exasperation.

"I ask for neither of those things. I do not propose that we go to _war_ with the beasts, but rather that we take a stand of unity; to show them that _any_ unprovoked attack against _any_ Cybertronian will be met with retaliation from both 'sides', regardless of our past differences. I ask that you do this not to protect Starscream or myself, but in the interest of maintaining peace on our fragile, recovering world," Megatron returned in a level, diplomatic tone. He was reminded of his days arguing before the council, when Orion Pax had stood at his side.

"Because you've always acted in 'the interest of maintaining peace' in the past," Arcee interjected bitterly.

"As I have said before, I have no further interest in dominating this or any other world. I only desire to see that this new Cybertron thrives, leaving behind the injustices of the old," Megatron answered her, his mind flashing once more to the senate; their cruelties were still fresh in his mind, though they had occurred in another age.

"So we're just supposed to let bygones be bygones and forget everything you did? Every_one_ you destroyed? You should be tried as a war criminal, not left alone to lick your wounds and make plans for another day! If Optimus hadn't pardoned you..." Arcee trailed off, the grief of losing the Prime clearly still fresh in her spark.

There was a hush as Megatron, too, mourned the departure of the Autobot leader. He had felt it in his spark when Optimus had joined The Well; after all, he had once called Orion Pax 'brother'-their bond ran deep, even after all that had transpired.

"I would call you wise to doubt my words and motives. Instead, you should ask the Predacon; he does not know the meaning of subtlety or deceit. He will admit unblinkingly to this attack," he stated with certainty, ending the lull.

Ratchet faltered, knowing this to be true.

"It's hard to forget that it was your talent for manipulating the sparks of others that started the war to begin with," the medic said quietly.

"No, _doctor_, it was not I who fired the first shot. Had I never existed, the fires of war would still have caught; I merely fanned them. And if this new world follows in the footsteps of the old, the fires will start again, and with _no_ help from _me_," Megatron answered, his voice taking on a raw edge.

_Even if my methods were injust, my reasoning was not flawed. The Autobots may have called it 'The Golden Age', but those who lived as slaves in all but name do not remember those times so favorably._

The ambulance hesitated, optics narrowing in thought.

"Your finesse with words is as polished as ever, Megatron."

"I simply speak the truth. If you sincerely desire peace, you will see to it that Sentinel Prime's ways stay buried with him," the ex-gladiator replied lowly.

Ratchet and Arcee gritted their denta at the mention of the former Prime. _Of course._ After all, most of the Autobots had come from the higher castes; they had little knowledge of the mistreatment enforced by the old senate.

It was once again Ratchet who broke the tense silence.

"Megatron... In the interest of beginning this new Golden Age on a note of mercy and peace, we will perform the needed repairs on Starscream, as you requested in your message. Beyond that, we promise nothing," Ratchet's tone was level, but strained... as though he were trying with great difficulty to imagine what Optimus would have said in his position.

"I thank you, Autobot," the ex-warlord replied, finding that for one reason or another, he actually meant it.

Ratchet's optics searched his unsurely, as if trying to tell whether the words were mocking or sincere.

...

The two medics moved to the occupied berth, where Starscream waited, eyeing them warily. Megatron's earlier warning had spooked him into a complacent muteness, but his mind remained abuzz.

"_Eeee_... Going to need a higher RPM buffer to smooth _that_ out...," Knock Out cringed as he assessed the seeker's injuries more closely.

_With your acute observational skills and such a compassionate berth-side manner, it's no wonder you came with such _glowing_ commendations, Knock Out, _the flyer thought sourly.

Ratchet's optics took in the varied equipment arranged throughout the lab, at last coming to rest on a stasis console. He moved to examine the machine more thoroughly, familiarizing himself with its interface. Finally, he took hold of the attached cable and returned to his patient.

"Good thing Shockwave's old lab is still operational. In my _ample_ experience, _Screamy here_ doesn't handle pain too well," the former Decepticon doctor drawled on to the other medic, motioning dramatically toward the berth.

The seeker chanced a silent glare at the mech, who grinned gallingly back.

Ratchet shook his head knowingly at the remark. Starscream grimaced, recalling the times he had traded information to the Autobots in exchange for medical treatment. Hopefully, that subject wouldn't come up... As far as he knew, Megatron was as of yet unaware of those _particular_ acts of treason.

The Autobot slipped one hand beneath the seeker's helm, lifting him slightly. Starscream flinched nervously, his faceplates tensing. He could feel the medic's digits prying at a panel on the back of his exposed neck... There was a slight pain as the small piece of plating was forced away, revealing the mechanics beneath. Out of the corner of one optic, the seeker saw Ratchet reach for the stasis cable with his free hand... He then slowly inserted the line into a port amidst the wiring, causing his patient to let out a weak cry in discomfort and alarm.

The medic gently lowered him back onto the berth, then returned to the console and began keying in commands. The stasis program activated, and Starscream felt an immediate fatigue overpowering him. His optics shuttered feebly, finally offlining altogether as the room melted away...

...

The Autobots had departed (Arcee grudgingly so), and Megatron had once again been left alone with his former second-in-command.

Stascream had just barely stirred from stasis. His denta were clenched, his talon-tipped fingers digging shallowly into the surface of the berth he rested on. He was whimpering softly to himself, though there was no telling if it was from pain or delirious terror.

His knee had been fully repaired, and the only indicators of the past trauma were scratches and rough soldering seams (much to Knock Out's chagrin). The injury had been straightforward enough, and the restoration fairly standard.

The wings had fallen somewhat beyond Ratchet's area of expertise-after all, his past experience had been almost exclusively with grounders. Wings were exceedingly intricate, their interiors laced with an immense web of sensors, fuel lines, advanced circuitry... Knock Out-his cycles of servicing Decepticons having instilled in him a far greater understanding of their workings-took charge here. Even between both medics, the repair of the torn wing had taken several hours. Every broken wire required careful analysis and reconstruction. Much of the wiring had been damaged irreparably, and Knock Out had at one point been forced to bridge back to the ruins of _The Nemesis_ to loot from the spare parts that remained in its med bay. The wing had finally been fully reattached to Starscream's body with no permanent damage done, though both medics had stated that it would take time for his systems to fully accept and integrate the replacement pieces. Until they did, he would remain grounded.

The opposite wing took nearly as long to fix, and the gashes inflicted by Predaking's claws remained, even now; the plating would ultimately have to be patched or replaced. Knock Out, while rifling through the Nemesis' medical supplies, had managed to locate raw materials matching Starscream's alloy, but it would take time to fashion new casings from them.

The seeker's chest wound had proven the most problematic. Several of the systems within Starscream's chassis had been damaged, as Megatron had suspected. The ruined plating of his torso was beyond salvage, and the medics were forced to remove it entirely to reach the internal injuries. They had stripped away the shredded metal, layer by layer, until Starscream's inner workings were laid bare. Had he been conscious, it would have been excruciating-it probably still was now.

The ex-warlord found himself thinking of how vulnerable Starscream looked. With the chestplates gone, his spark was now more visible even than before. The absence of the armor also made the already slender mech appear skeletal-as though he were little more than a bare infrastructure. He looked absolutely wretched, trembling and sobbing, half of his internals exposed.

_Powerless._

Megatron hardly knew what possessed him, but he moved to a storage unit on the far wall, pulling an object from a low shelf. It was an insulator tarp; the cloth was designed to trap heat, and was often fashioned into coverings for excursions into colder climes. Its medical use was to help keep the internal temperature of a severely injured patient from dropping further, thus stalling the onset of stasis lock.

Unfurling it with a flick of his wrist, the ex-gladiator stepped to the berth-side and arranged the cloth tersely over the smaller mech. Starscream's optics unshuttered and darted up towards him suspiciously, but Megatron's faceplates remained stiff, unreadable. He finished positioning the tarp, covering the prone flyer's exposed mechanics and spark, as well as the rest of his frame-which was still spattered with energon, both dried and fresh.

The seeker gazed up questioningly at his former leader, catching his optics. For a moment, it was as if there were a passing of dim understanding between them-perhaps even trust... Both had striven for power, hoping to bury their feelings of helplessness, of insignificance... and both had now been stripped of that power entirely.

The moment slipped away. Starscream continued to stare after the ex-warlord, but his expression seemed to dawn with comprehension, and he had calmed somewhat. As Megatron left his side, he saw the seeker's optics offline as his exhaustion gave way to a deep state of recharge-no doubt the first he'd had in cycles.

* * *

_Author's Note: This chapter went through a ton of drafts and rewrites... It's definitely the most trouble this fic has given me so far. DX I still feel like some of the perspective shifts are abrupt, but I couldn't seem to lay it out any more smoothly. :/_

_I gave Starscream a long inner monologue here, mostly to cement the idea that while he may act submissive and simpering to Megatron's face... he does harbor some resentment and conflicted feelings. ;)_

_Thanks for reading! Please R&R, I appreciate it so much! :)_


	5. The Era to Come

_Author's Note: I know I'm probably repeating myself, but as this is the last chapter... Thank you once again to those who have supported me as I wrote this! I hope you enjoy this final chapter! :)_

_Also: Despite its name, the 'Aligned Continuity' actually contradicts itself quite a bit... So to clarify, I am regarding 'War for Cybertron' and 'Fall of Cybertron' as the the predecessors to 'Prime'._

* * *

A ground bridge materialized amidst the ruins of the dead city. Fading darkness still lingered over the crumbling Golden Age architecture; it was the verge of a new solar cycle... but it had not dawned yet. A figure emerged hesitantly from the bridge, surveying the area with practiced caution. At the sound of heavy steps, his head turned sharply in the direction of the noise.

"I thank you again for your earlier assistance, Autobot."

"Megatron... Why did you call me here? Has Starscream-" Ratchet began, making no effort to mask the suspicion in his voice.

"This does not bear any relation to Starscream's condition. He is recovering _splendidly_-a further show of his perpetual resilience... and, no doubt, of your medical expertise, doctor. I had hoped we might instead discuss... the future of Cybertron," the ex-Decepticon replied with quiet composure.

Ratchet's optics narrowed warily.

"Huh! And why would we have have anything _to_ discuss on the matter?" the words were laced with a long-standing resentment.

Megatron lowered his optics to meet the Autobot's in a steady gaze.

"Optimus believed that freedom was the inherent right of all sentient beings. I thought him naive in those days... I was certain that in order for _some_ to be free, _others_ must be subjugated... By the end, for all my glowing promises of equality and justice, my ambition was merely to become the oppressor, rather than the oppressed," he said slowly, lamentingly.

Ratchet remained quiet, his expression attentive but indifferent.

"I will be direct, Autobot... I would ask that you hold to Optimus' ideals as you build the infrastructure of this renewed Cybertron. Do not keep efficiency over empathy, order over justice... or power over equality. Fail in this, and you will meet the same end as Sentinel Prime and his followers... and myself," the ex-warlord's words were low but emphatic, his denta gritting as he spoke.

"Megatron..."

"Had I been wiser millennia ago, I wonder how our world might be changed _today_? Had I _heard_ Orion Pax's words, rather than just disputed them...? While the system he once fought to defend was corrupt, his intentions were ever pure. He was of better makings than you or I. It is fitting he would be the last of the Primes."

The medic did not speak for a time. He allowed his optics to drift over the surrounding ruins, as if remembering them in their glory.

"Optimus also believed that all beings were capable of change... He was insistent upon it," the old Autobot's voice was wistful, almost haunted. "He pardoned you, Megatron; in spite of everything you did, and everything you fought for. In spite of the friends we had lost to you, and the planet you left lifeless. He _believed_ that you could change."

_Yes, Orion Pax had indeed said something to that effect, long ago..._

_'All sentient beings possess the capacity for change, Megatronus.'_

A fresh wave of grief surged over him. The once-tyrant nearly felt fluid rise in his optics, but he suppressed it vehemently.

_Had I trusted you, Orion, instead of letting my lust for power guide me... Cybertron would have lived-thrived... and you would be here to see it._

"I would... honor his hopes," Ratchet said after a pause. "In regards to our last meeting... The Autobot forces _will_ take a stand if the Predacons attempt any further unprovoked attacks against former Decepticons. Optimus wouldn't have wanted the new Cybertron to be forged in grudges and infighting."

An uncomfortable hush followed, finally broken by the medic.

"I'm not extending an invitation for you to join us, Megatron-"

"Nor would I accept it, Autobot."

Ratchet was silent for a moment more before finishing.

"...but I will not go against one of Optimus' final decrees. You have been pardoned. For the All Sparks' sake, don't you _dare_ disgrace his memory by falling back into your old habits!" the medic was sputtering, his words choked and painful. His optics were turned downward, as though he couldn't bear to look at the one he addressed.

"I have no intention of doing so. Such would be a crime as much to me as to you," the former gladiator said with sincerity.

Ratchet stared long and hard at the other.

"And what of Starscream? Does _he_ share these sentiments of _peaceful coexistence?" _the medic asked scoffingly.

"Starscream is now under my protection... as well as my watchful optics. He will not stir any further unrest," Megtron stated firmly. Then, with something akin to bitter amusement, he added: "In time, perhaps Optimus' belief in a being's inherent capacity for change will be put to the test."

"See that he's kept on a short leash... I can't imagine he's abandoned all hope of reigniting the war..."

"Nor can I, doctor..."

Ratchet grinned with a faint humor at this.

"We won't forget. I, too, would see Optimus' vision of Cybertron come into being," the medic's voice was low and broken. "Even that... wouldn't be memorial enough."

"Thank you, Ratchet," there was honest gratitude in the ex-Decepticon's words.

The Autobot moved to leave, then turned back as if to say something. No words came. He stepped slowly through the ground bridge, which flickered and dissipated behind him.

...

_Sky... I cannot see the sky... Just the darkness... Everywhere..._

Over two weeks had passed since the decisive battle for The Well of All Sparks, and Starscream's condition had improved significantly. Ratchet and Knock Out had returned as promised, and the medics had seamlessly grafted newly forged platings to the seeker's chassis. Knock Out (unable to bear the idea of such _lustrous finish_ being marred) had even managed to coax the jet into a buff and wax, and he no longer bore the jagged scars of his ordeal. The minor lacerations and dents that had covered his frame had also been tended to, and he looked almost as though the incident had never occurred.

However, he was now faced with another malady: seeker claustrophobia, worsened by the expanse of time he had spent shut inside the underground laboratory. His instincts pleaded with him for freedom, for open air. His wings, still tender and flightless, craved the rush of endless sky.

_Perhaps Megatron intends to torture me after all,_ he thought sulkily. _By allowing me to drift into _insanity_, a prisoner in this _wretched_ laboratory..._

Well, Megatron wasn't watching him now... The former Decepticon leader had gone aboveground some time ago, offering no explanation for his departure.

Either he would see the sky again, or he would succumb to madness; of this much Starscream was certain.

Gasping at the effort of it, he pulled himself up into a sitting position, then hoisted his legs over the side of the berth. Tentatively, he slid forward, allowing his heels to touch the floor. He rested some weight on his good leg, testing to see that he could support it. With a desperate burst of will, he stood, favoring his recently reconstructed left knee. The seeker could feel his strength ebbing fast, and leaned against the nearest wall for support, his talon-tipped fingers digging grooves into the smooth surface as they clamored for purchase. He managed a few stumbling steps before his injured knee buckled, sending him tumbling to the floor. He let out a scream of anguish as his recovering frame collided with the hard, metal flooring.

The harsh sound of clanking steps issued from outside, and the laboratory's doorway shuttered open, revealing Megatron. The ex-warlord glowered at the crumpled figure sprawled awkwardly beside the berth.

"Idiot!" he spat, to which the seeker responded with a feeble whimper.

The larger mech nonetheless knelt beside him, holding him at the waist and slowly lifting him to his feet. The flyer mumbled a rambling plea.

"Please... please, master... I need air, sky... Please..." he sobbed in delirium.

Hissing irritably, Megatron took hold of Starscream's left arm and positioned it around his own waist, supporting the seeker's weight. The smaller mech leaned heavily against him, clinging to his chassis for support. The ex-warlord rested one arm on the jet's shoulder, steadying him. Megatron then took a slow step, prompting the other to do the same. Their progress was halting, and the flyer winced whenever he was forced to use his left leg, but they made their way steadily towards the door.

When they reached the ramp, the seeker tripped, nearly sliding from Megatron's grasp. Rolling his optics, the larger mech slipped his free arm beneath Starscream's knees, lifting him into his arms. The seeker let out a surprised and indignant cry, but allowed it, his desperation for open air winning out over his pride. The former Decepticon leader carried him to the top of the ramp, then gently lowered him onto his feet again, moving to support him once more. They made it outside, and a wave of relief surged through Starscream as he saw the sky spanning above him.

A new solar cycle had just arrived, and the decrepit buildings gleamed with dawning light. At a glance, the rusted-out husks seemed new again, as though at any moment the deserted city might come alive with the vitality it had once known.

Starscream's wings twitched longingly at the sight of open sky... He was painfully reminded that he could not fly, and his optics brimmed with fluid at the thought.

He shuddered, remembering the span of time he had spent without his T-cog... The experience had been far more painful for him, a seeker, than it would have been for that _ground-bound_ Autobot... Being flightless left Starcream feeling vulnerable and helpless; his thin frame did not lend itself to great physical strength, and he was by far most comfortable fighting in the air. Not to mention the fact that his deeply instilled seeker instincts demanded flight, making it a necessity for his mental well-being.

Megatron guided him onwards, walking him slowly along the cracked and broken roadways of the derelict city. Starscream couldn't help glancing upwards nervously from time to time, wondering if the Predacons could have tracked them here...

To think... Not so long ago, they had _commanded_ the Predacons. Now the ungrateful beasts hunted them, and they fled like frightened prey. They were orphans in this new world, he and Megatron alike; helpless and alone, forced to beg at the feet of the _Autobots_. Just a few cycles past, their situations had been reversed; the Decepticons had held the upper hand. Their enemies were driven to raid heavily guarded mines, simply to procure enough energon to scrape by...

_There _are_ no Decepticons anymore. It is gone now, all of it, and we are but the scrap left over. Just like this city..._

"Master... ...What is to become of us now?" the seeker asked resignedly.

Megatron said nothing for several kliks, then stopped suddenly in his tracks, causing Starscream to stagger.

"We will witness the onset of a new era... and hope it fares better than the last," the larger mech answered him stoicly.

"But... Master, surely you would rather have a hand in _shaping_ the new Golden Age...? Assuring that it is all we... ah... _you_... wish it to be?" the flyer asked, almost pleadingly.

"_No_, _Starscream_," Megatron replied testily. "If I am to have any part in it, it will be to see that the last vestiges of the Decepticon ways die with the rust."

The seeker felt his spark crackle with shock... revulsion. Was his master truly conceding that the Prime-_that the Autobots_-had been _correct_?

When he had first met Megatron, Starscream had been working under the service of Cybertron. The status that came of being Sky Commander had suited his lust for rank well enough (at least for the time), and the occasional skirmishes his forces engaged in had kept him entertained. But then Megatron had shown him what _true_ power was... The Decepticon leader had annihilated Cybertron's finest, cutting through them as though they were untrained cadets. Starscream had seen power, vast and untapped, in the warlord's optics, and knew he had found a new master. He had felt a burning admiration for the renegade; he was _proud_ to fight at Megatron's side. And _fight_ they had, painting entire battlefields in the energon of their foes. It had felt infinitely more fulfilling, more _satiating_, than the petty battles he had fought in the name of Cybertronian defense. He had felt _alive_, meaningful...

_Powerful._

And yet... The infamous warlord he had so admired had _also_ been the cold tyrant who had beaten and humiliated him time and again. Eventually, Starscream had grown to resent his master... Any loyalty he'd held had given way to a renewed thirst for _greater_ power. On how many occasions had he striven to overthrow the ex-gladiator, to claim leadership for himself? How often had he dreamed of Megatron, broken and cowering at _his_ heels, pleading for life from the one he had so long abused?

Still, a part of Starscream had never let go of the awe and admiration that he had felt for the Decepticon leader-possibly, there was even a degree of devotion... Especially after the seeker's time as a rogue, when he had struggled for survival, left entirely friendless... To be accepted once more among Megatron's forces-to have a home and allegiance-had been a relief beyond fathoming. He had actually desired to _serve_ Megatron again, to give his loyalty to the Decepticon cause.

Then, when Megatron had been run through with the Starsaber, he had surprised even himself. He had felt _grief_-true, abysmal _grief_.

Perhaps they had simply endured each other's presence for so long, a bond had inevitably formed.

Megatron had, after all, saved him from the Predacons. There was no rational reason for doing so; no strategic maneuvering or excuses. It had been an act of... mercy. Even now, the ex-warlord was helping him to walk, to ease his buzzing, flight-deprived mind...

To say his feelings towards Megatron were mixed, at odds... was to put it gently. But one fact was cemented, indisputable in Starscream's meta: he was glad that his master was still among the living.

...

"Very well then, master... If that is what you truly desire," the smaller mech said awkwardly, his optics darting uncomfortably.

They continued to walk, a weighty silence filling the air between them.

"And what is... to become of... me?" Starscream asked hesitantly at last, his voice sighing, exhausted.

_What _was_ to become of Starscream?_

Megatron had declared the seeker to be under his protection, and promised the Autobot that he would monitor him. But what did that mean? That Starscream was his prisoner? His slave?

_No, _he thought pointedly.

What then?

"I have negotiated an understanding with the Autobots: you are under my protection. You are not to be fired upon or taken captive by their forces, unless you should strike first. Additionally, the Autobots have agreed to stand against the Predacons should they instigate another conflict," he stated mechanically, indifferently. "Until the dust has settled and Cybertron is again stable, you will remain under my watch. Those were the terms of our agreement."

There was a pause as Starscream evidently struggled to process this news. At last, almost choking, the flyer spoke.

"Master... Thank you."

Megatron had heard these words before, but they had never held any meaning. Always, they had been interspersed amidst his whining second-in-command's sycophantic groveling. They had never meant anything more than that the seeker wanted something... usually to be spared his own life.

But he heard an unfamiliar sound in the words this time, so new as to seem alien. A... realness.

It was difficult to admit-even more-so to explain-but the ex-warlord found that he was _grateful_ to have Starscream at his side. All that _had_ been was gone now: the lower castes, the senate, the Pits, the rebellion, the war, the glory of battle, Orion Pax and Optimus Prime, Soundwave, all of his allies and forces... All of it was gone, leave Starscream: the irksome, inescapable presence that returned against all odds, time and again, to throw a wrench in his workings.

And somehow, he was comforted to have the schemer there.

...

_Alive._

Powerless, purposeless, displaced...

_But alive._

Always alive. If nothing more could be said for Starscream, he had a singular knack for survival. And so long as he functioned... he had not failed; not yet.

Whatever awaited, he would _continue_ to endure. And perhaps... he would not have to do so alone.

...

_A tyrant._

Megatron knew that this would be his legacy. His brutalities would be remembered longer than any act of mercy, any good intention... Such was the nature of history. But whether or not they would be recorded or celebrated, his actions from this point on would affect the future as truly as his past choices.

_'All sentient beings possess the capacity for change, Megatronus.'_

Perhaps he could believe that.

* * *

_Author's Note: Did I say that chapter 4 took a lot of rewrites? Yeah... Not like this one. I went through several distinctly different drafts before landing on this version. XD I hope you enjoyed it! :) Thank you so much for reading! :)_

_Reviews are loved, I appreciate it so much! :)_

_(Added note: Yes, Starscream will be able to fly again. :) It's just that he's in too poor of condition to try it yet, here. ;) )_


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